


Just Fine

by EvilDime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Animagus, Azkaban, Child Abuse, Gen, Mentor Sirius, Mpreg, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilDime/pseuds/EvilDime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Harry's second year at Hogwarts, Ginny dies and Harry is sent to Azkaban for her murder. To his horror, there are worse things than Dementors on this island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and associated parties. I own nothing, make no money with this and also hope I'm not offending anyone with my writing.  
> A/N: Translation of my German fic by the same name. This is a cross-post from AFF and also one of my older Azkaban fics.  
> A/N2: This fic was inspired by, of all things, a sample sentence in pragmatics class. "It would be inadequate to answer the question 'How did Harry fare in court today?' with ‚Harry got fined‘ in a case where Harry had to pay a fine but was also sentenced to death." - I substituted Azkaban for the death sentence and voilà, the title is explained. Not. But anyway, I hope you enjoy reading. ^^

* * *

 

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_you have raised seven wonderful children. I have complete trust in your ability to be a good mother to my little Sarah, as well. You have to understand, though, that she is not the child of a happy union. Sarah has been born two days ago in Azkaban. Ever since, we have been on the run. I can give her neither milk nor a bed._

_Now that you know these facts, I understand if you would rather not welcome Sarah into your home. If you believe you can be a mother to her in spite of her background, please formally invite Sarah into your home and family. If, however, you decline taking up the care of the daughter of an escaped convict, please say so clearly – I will know and come to pick Sarah up._

_One last word of advice: Do not try to tell anyone about Sarah's origins. You will be incapable of doing so. There is a Secrecy Charm on this letter which will be activated when you accept the care of my daughter. I apologize for my lack of trust, but I do not wish for my Sarah to grow up as an outcast as I have done._

_I thank you for your understanding._

_Sincerely,_

_L._

* * *

Molly Weasley slowly lowered her hand clutching the letter and looked down at the tiny person lying on her doorstep, wrapped in nothing but a few faded rags.

"Oh Merlin, you poor little dear!"

She cleared her throat, wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and looked down at the little black-haired bundle once again, the newborn staring back at her with wide, uncomprehending eyes. In a serious, ceremonial voice, Molly intoned: "Sarah, I welcome you into the House of Weasley and swear that I will love and cherish you as I do my own blood children."

The letter shook in her hands, then it burst into a small flame and crumbled to ash. Molly thought she heard a very quiet _"Thank you..."_

Then there was silence.

Molly Weasley bent down to pick up the innocent little baby which had so unexpectedly entered her life. Carrying the child safely in her arms, she stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her.

* * *

Behind the bushes along the north side of the house, exhaustion overtook Harry Potter. A man carefully picked him up. Witch a quiet _crack_ , the two men were gone. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just realized... In case you are wondering - at the point of writing, I'd never heard of Death Note, so the signature is NOT meant to allude to any detectives!


	2. Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Once again, I worked with my own interpretation of Dementors. It just doesn't make sense to me that if they eat happy memories, specific unhappy ones are called forth and amplified. I'd expect depression, lethargy, hopelessness; but not sharp, acute recollection of specific traumata. ...Anyway, it doesn't occupy much space in this fic, so if you don't care for the idea, just skip those few lines. ;)

* * *

 

_"...servant of You-Know-Who. His ability to talk to snakes alone is sufficient proof in and of itself, but furthermore, the accused has been seen at the scene in three separate cases. I therefore move that Harry Potter be convicted of the murder of Ginevra Weasley, as well as the use of Dark Magic against two of his class mates and one of the ghosts of Hogwarts. Who will speak against this?"_

_Harry looked around the court room. There were few people he knew: all of his class mates were minors and therefore excluded from the proceedings. The only familiar people present were Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and the Professors McGonagall and Snape. Snape was probably here to enjoy his triumph over the son of James Potter. McGonagall out of a feeling of duty towards each and every one of her Gryffindors. Dumbledore, because he had always shown a special interest in the "Boy Who Lived"._

_The Weasleys, though..._

_Harry looked up at the two red haired adults. The Weasleys had been as good as his own family, he had felt so loved and accepted with them. But that was over now._

_There was no accusation in their eyes – not yet, it seemed that the fact he was accused of having murdered their daughter had not yet truly sunk in. But it was only a matter of time until the disbelief and the horror on their faces would turn into the hate and disgust he could read in the Minister of Magic's face. They did not react to the question of who would speak against the verdict. Possibly, they had not even heard it._

_Dumbledore, however, cleared his throat. "Minister, compelling though your arguments may seem, the boy has sworn under the influence of Veritaserum that he is innocent of these crimes. Furthermore, I find it unduly harsh to send a boy his age, a mere twelve-year-old, to Azkaban."_

_The Minister looked down on Dumbledore with disdain. "Headmaster Dumbledore, you were present for the entire proceedings just like I was, myself. So you are entirely aware of the fact that the boy's words even under Veritaserum have been declared untrustworthy due to his Parseltongue ability. There is a reason that a snake's forked tongue has become idiomatic."_

_"Be that as it may, he is still only a boy! Not to mention, the very boy to whom we owe the demise of Voldemort."_

_Again, the Minister looked haughtily down on his opponent. "He is a man who has committed murder. If he was old enough to kill, he is old enough to bear the consequences. He is a Parselmouth, just like You-Know-Who. Who is to say that he is not already planing to follow in his Lord's footsteps?_

_"Thus, let us proceed to the vote. The court has decided upon a payment of ten thousand Galleons to the Weasley family as reimbursement; also, the accused will serve two life sentences in Azkaban prison. All who agree, please raise your hands."_

_With a sinking heart, Harry watched more and more hands rise into the air._

_"But I..."_

* * *

"...didn't do it!"

With a yell, Harry Potter startled awake. He had once again dreamed of that horrible day, three years ago, when his life had ended.

"Lambkin? Little one? Oi, lamb, say something!" Through the door, he heard the voice of his next-cell neighbour - his only friend.

"I'm okay," he quickly shouted back, "just another nightmare from back then."

He did not have to specify what he meant by "back then" - for three years running, this memory had been the stuff of his worst nightmares about his life before Azkaban. Which spoke volumes about the associated trauma, considering that Harry had amassed a fine collection of stuff for horrid nightmares in his short life. But nothing ever came close to the feeling of helplessness and betrayal he suffered on that fateful day and which had stayed with him ever since.

Neither his life with the Dursleys, locked away for days at a time in a narrow, dark cupboard, nor his many life-threatening adventures at the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could compare - even though the Quidditch games alone provided a deep fount of high-adrenaline life-or-death encounters; then there were his many battles with Malfoy; and not to forget the crazy and dangerous flight in that Ford Anglia with his then-friend Ron...

Worst of all, and very close runners-up to the trial day, had been his two encounters with Lord Voldemort's obscene reincarnations, once as a parasite clinging to the back of his defence teacher's head, then as a memory-turned-flesh risen from a diary, which had brought death to Ginny Weasley.

* * *

_Harry had followed Ginny to the chamber purely on instinct, where he then helplessly watched from a distance as the memory of Tom Riddle rose from a diary. Just when he finally reached the couple, the youngest Weasley's body dropped to the floor, utterly drained of life._

_Riddle was overjoyed to enlighten Harry as to how he had possessed the girl and was now finally able to regain his very own body thanks to her life energy. Just one more charm to permanently detach his mind from the diary and Lord Voldemort would be as fearsome and powerful as ever._

_Harry gathered all his courage and anger and attacked Riddle with a fierce battle cry. He pushed the taller boy aside and pulverized the diary with a household charm._

_Riddle's form rippled and became blurred at the edges like a wet painting. The black-haired Slytherin dissolved in front of his very eyes._

_Harry painfully staggered to his feet and began the tragic task of carrying Ginny's lifeless body from the Chamber. He just so managed to reach Myrtle's bathroom. Before he even had a chance to close the entrance to the Chamber, the physical and mental exhaustion from the day's events caused Harry's body to shut down right then and there._

_He woke in the Headmaster's study, in the presence of several of his teachers, along with a man who was introduced to him as the Minister of Magic, accompanied by several "Aurors" - magical police, as Snuffles later explained to him._

_He was questioned about the day's events. However, the interview was pretty much over as soon as he mentioned speaking to the snakes in the washbasin in order to follow Ginny. At the time, he did not understand what was happening. Dumbledore seemed to be quite interested in the rest of the story, but Minister Fudge proclaimed loudly that a Parselmouth must not be allowed to walk free, whether he had indeed murdered Ginevra Weasely or not._

_Harry was transferred to a ministry holding cell. He had no idea why he was being imprisoned. Several more people came to question him._

_At the trial, he finally learned that he was being blamed for all the crimes Ginny had been forced to commit under the diary's influence. And for her death._

_His protestations of his own innocence were not believed. There were no witnesses. Only Dumbledore spoke up for him, but in the end, the Minister's word counted for more. The Wizengamot did not want a Parselmouth who may or may not have inherited further Dark Arts skills from You-Know-Who to freely run about in a school full of innocent children._

_The fact that Harry was a child himself was ignored._

_And so Harry was taken to Azkaban._

Hagrid must have been released, _he thought fleetingly._ Since his innocence has now been "proven"...

* * *

_The first week was terrible. Harry had never before heard of a Dementor, much less encountered one. His parents' death, Ginny's death, his arrest and sentencing were playing over and over in his head, robbing him of all good and happy thoughts and feelings._

_Of course, memories like the night he had spent treed by Ripper in the old oak in the Dursleys' backyard were brought back to him in vivid colours, as well. But such smaller horrors from his childhood paled before the complete terror and helplessness he had experienced at the trial._

_And yet, the trial was not the worst thing to happen to Harry in recent years. True, it was his worst memory from his life before Azkaban, and as such, it was the number one event to be featured in his nightmares of before._

_However, it was his waking moments in Azkaban that proved to be the most horrible._

_The only people permitted to visit prisoners in Azkaban were their family members, so it stood to reason that no-one ever came to Harry's cell._

_Wrong._

_Harry had been in Azkaban for ten days when his door first opened outside of meal times. Four men entered. Harry learned that they were the permanent guards living in Azkaban day and night. The Dementors made sure that none of the prisoners could escape; the human guards took care of meals, brought the prisoners to the showers on rare occasions and supervised visits._

_Harry had wondered how they could stand being around Dementors for so long. It turned out that they possessed certain ministry-made amulets that protected them against the cruel creatures' influence._

_These four men now entered Harry's cell. Harry didn't understand what happened next._

_He was only twelve years old._

* * *

Now, three years later, he knew perfectly well what had happened that day - as it had happened again at least once a week ever since. That first day, though, he had just lain there on his mattress, hurt and confused, and cried like never before in his life.

He had cried so loudly that eventually, the inmate in the cell next to his had taken notice.

"Hey, child, how old are you?" Harry had heard the rasp of a rough voice.

"I - _hiccup_ \- I'm... _sniff_... I'm twelve."

"Twelve?!" came the sharp reply.

"Yes, and that's not my fault!" Harry yelled, suddenly angry. Was it any of his doing that he had been imprisoned in Azkaban at such a young age?

"Twelve years old...!" the voice sounded once again. Harry could literally hear the man shaking his head. "Those bastards."

Cold fear clawed at his heart. "You know...?"

The other laughed, bitter. "Who doesn't? There isn't a single inmate of Azkaban who is remotely pleasant to look at, male or female, who does not know from personal experience what it means when a silencing charm descends upon his neighbour's cell."

"You mean... you mean, you are also...?"

"Yes, child. Me too. And also the poor woman who inhabited that cell before you, may the Gods have mercy upon her soul."

"And you think that everyone else in here is also...?"

"Well, obviously I don't know many of the other prisoners. But in eleven years, a lot can be learned from various cell neighbours or inferred from the guards' words."

"I see." Harry was quiet for a while, thinking. His sniffles had slowly ebbed during the conversation without his notice. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure thing. Shoot."

"When I... when I refused to... to..." Harry couldn't continue. He gulped painfully. "Anyway, then one of the guards put a spell on me... and all of a sudden, I could no longer feel the monsters outside! The fear was just gone. I was... relaxed and... and very nearly happy. What _was_ that?"

Harry's neighbour did nor reply for some time. When he finally did, his voice was utterly cheerless: "That was a damn _Imperius._ A dark curse. Forbidden. But it seems as though normal laws do not touch this island. ...How could they use an Unforgivable against a _child_!?!?!!

"...You see, child, it is a curse that forces the caster's will upon his victim. I assume that afterwards, you did whatever they had told you to?"

Harry was surprised to realized that he didn't remember. He focused hard. There had been a voice in his head... It had gently commanded him to do something for it... There had been absolutely no reason not to take its advice... Everything had been so peaceful... What was it that the voice had told him to do...?

All of a sudden, Harry realized what had happened at that moment. The memory returned to him so vividly as though it were all happening to him a second time. Quick as lightning, he had jumped off his bed and run to the basic WC in the corner of his cell, into which he started to barf extensively and noisily.

"I take that as a yes," his neighbour proclaimed sarcastically.

Right at that moment, Harry could have cheerfully killed him.

* * *

As the days passed, they became friends.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Harry learned that his neighbour had also gone to Hogwarts. He heard of the man's three best friends - Prongs, Wormtail and Moony. Harry was fascinated. He had never met a werewolf.

The two prisoners had come to a silent agreement never to mention the guards' visits, nor the reasons for their imprisonment. Names also did not seem to have any significance in this cold, grey place, so few were mentioned and only as it was needed in the telling of a story.

The cells to their right and left remained empty, so they had no other sources of conversation. Thus a direct address by name just never seemed necessary. They always knew whom their words were intended for. Also, Harry would just as soon forget all about "Harry Potter".

One day, the man explained to Harry about his animagus form that protected him even here in Azkaban. Harry was on fire.

"Can I learn how to do that?"

"Well..." The other seemed to think about it. Finally he answered. "It is highly advanced magic, but since the transformation can be done without the aid of a wand, it is theoretically possible for you to learn it here. And it really would be a blessing, what with the Dementors liking you so."

Harry shivered. The Dementors seemed to have a thing for him. Just like the guards.

Maybe it was connected to his wealth of bad memories, allowing them to torture him more than other prisoners. Supposedly, Dementors fed by sucking all the joy out of human beings. Technically, that wasn't entirely accurate. Dementors forced a person to re-live the worst memories of their life, that part was correct; however, they did not gobble down the good memories, merely pushed them into the background. For then the path was clear to their true nourishment: fear and despair.

A man who is desperate or afraid will broadcast these emotions in strong waves that are felt by other living beings. Thus a horse who feels his rider's insecurity will shy away from an obstacle rather than jump it; a mad dog scenting a person's fear is all the more likely to bite; and a Dementor will drink down that fear like the finest wine. It will cause its human victim to have nothing but bad memories in order to ensure its food source.

Thus the Dementors were on very good terms with the guards. Wherever the guards went, new bad experiences, fears and terrors were sure to follow. They were playing into the Dementors' hands - and so, of course, the Dementors let them do as they pleased.

If Harry managed to turn into an animagus, maybe he could avert at least the Dementors' heightened interest in him. It seemed to have worked well for his neighbour before Harry moved in.

And so Harry started to practise.

Day after day he listened to his neighbouring inmate's explanations about how to find his own animagus form. He learned that the shape a wizard took had to match his character. It could be an expression of his dominant character traits, his self-image, or his role in the world.

Harry eventually learned that his fellow inmate turned into a large black dog. Black, since he was the last living scion of a family of dark wizards by that name. Harry was highly amused by this detail since it was obvious that his neighbour did not hold his family in particularly high esteem. His shape, Black speculated, was that of a dog due to his bordering-on-stupid loyalty as a friend. His loyalty to certain friends was the reason the Sorting Hat had sorted him into Gryffindor as a student rather than into Slytherin like the rest of his family.

Harry had been in Azkaban for over a year when Black first mentioned part of the reason for his imprisonment. While speaking about his animagus form, the man had snorted: "Well, that loyalty turned out to be a pretty bad deal."

Harry had inquired further at that point, and a few days later the man had given in. Harry heard the tale of how the man had been the Secret Keeper for his friend Prongs when the Dark Lord had been after him. How he had convinced Prongs to choose Wormtail as his Secret Keeper instead and use him as a decoy; and how Wormtail had betrayed Prongs and his wife.

"They died because of me," he concluded sadly. "If I hadn't persuaded them to switch Secret Keepers, they'd still be alive."

Harry did his best to convince the other that surely, that did not make it his fault. Another year went by before he made any significant progress on that front. Meanwhile, however, he mastered his animagus transformation.

The day of his first transformation well and truly opened his eyes. He had been 'visited' by the guards again. Afterwards, he had talked about the _Imperius_ with Snuffles, as he was now allowed to address the man.

"Sometimes I long for their visits, because it's only then, under _Imperius,_ that I get a few minutes of absolute peace. I am a terrible person."

Snuffles had been lost for words at that announcement, but then he had scrambled to reassure his young friend that he was totally blameless in everything the guards did to him, and that it was entirely normal and legitimate to long for a bit of peace. While incarcerated in Azkaban, one could simply not be overly picky about how to obtain that peace.

Harry hadn't been convinced.

This conversation, though, had given Snuffles the vital clue as to what was keeping his young neighbour from successfully transforming into an animal.

"You know what?" he interrupted Harry's sombre thoughts. "I think you are rejecting a part of your personality. You do not accept your own innocence. If you could just admit that you are in no way responsible for what those men are doing to you, maybe you could finally find your animagus form!"

Snuffles seemed to vibrate with excitement over this idea. Harry, however, leant back on his mattress and closed his eyes in distress. Could Snuffles be right? Did he wrongfully deny his own innocence?

With the Dursleys, all he'd ever heard was what a freak he was, a burden, a curse, unnatural. Yet in Hogwarts he had learned that he wasn't the only one of his kind, and far from worthless. Innocent... On the other hand, the Wizarding World had taught him that his parents had died to protect him.

"How could I be innocent? My parents died because of me!"

Snuffles sounded disbelieving when he asked: "Is that why you're in here?"

"Curses, no! My parents died when I was only a year old, I don't even remember them. No, I am here because I have supposedly killed a first year."

"'Supposedly'? So did you?"

"No, I did not... But who cares what I have to say about it? I am an evil Parselmouth, so obviously every word I say must be a lie, right?"

Snuffles seemed shocked by this revelation, for he remained silent a lot longer than was normal between them.

Harry felt his heart freeze in his chest. Did he scare Snuffles off with this information? Maybe the other was just as prejudiced against "forked tongues" as the rest of the Wizarding World. Had he just chased away the only friend he was likely to have for the rest of his life?

He was miserable. It wasn't his fault that he had this ability!

Little by little, the self-doubt gave way to righteous anger at the unfairness of the Wizarding World. Just because they wanted to protect him from a crazy dark wizard, his parents had to die. Just because he was able to talk to snakes, Harry was condemned. Just because he was younger and less ugly than the other prisoners, the guards came to him more often than to anyone else.

Just because... just because he was himself, the entire world was punishing him. What had he done to deserve such a cursed life? He hadn't done anything wrong. No one deserved this!

He was going to give Snuffles a piece of his mind, right now. He wasn't going to take this any more!

Harry energetically jumped off his bed -

\- and did a nose-dive into the stone floor. It was a supremely long nose, too. Slowly, Harry lifted his head from the floor, pushed himself up on arms and legs... Why were his arms as long as his legs? Or were his legs as short as his arms?

Confused, he turned towards his bed on all fours. His bed was set imposingly at the height of his head.

Harry uttered a startled cry.

And was startled even further. That wasn't his voice! It was a feeble, inhuman cry, like that of a wounded animal. And somehow very... different.

"Child? Hey, kiddo, what's going on?" he suddenly heard Snuffles' worried voice.

_He is worried for me. Maybe I haven't scared him away, after all?_

"Baaaa!" Harry answered emphatically.

First, Snuffles made no sound. Then... Harry didn't want to believe his ears. The man was laughing!

"Kid, this is great!" Snuffles roared. "Now you _have_ to believe me that you are indeed as innocent as a lamb!" He couldn't seem to stop laughing. "You've found your animagus form all right, little one! It's a sheep - a lamb!"

Wide-eyed, Harry looked down. There could be no doubt about what Snuffles had said: White, fluffy legs - four of them - met his eyes. A twitch in an unfamiliar muscle at his buttocks led to the realization that he was now in possession of a cute little tail. And, last but not least, this enchanting voice...

"Ba-a-aaah!" he expressed his amazement.

It was quite a while before Snuffles had gotten enough of a grip on his amusement to explain how to reverse the transformation.

* * *


	3. Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos! :)

* * *

"Well, better to have a nightmare of the past than one of the present." Snuffles' tired voice brought Harry back to the present. The guards had visited Snuffles for the first time in what seemed like forever, and ever since, Snuffles was in a lethargic mood.

Harry felt guilty. For well nigh on a month, the guards had stopped coming to him, and it seemed like everyone else now had to suffer in his stead.

The guilty feeling evaporated as Harry slid his hands over his belly and reminded himself of the reason why the guards left him alone these days - for the first time since his arrival in this prison that could have sprung straight from a Muggle horror film.

It must have happened some seven months ago, when the Dementors had left Azkaban. The guards were rumouring that the creatures had joined You-Know-Who and it was only a matter of time before he came to Azkaban in person. It was the first time they mentioned the possible return of the 'Dark Lord'.

Harry couldn't tell whether the idea pleased or frightened them.

Their happiness at the departure of the Dementors, on the other hand, was very obvious. In spite of their amulets, the guards had not been entirely immune to the constant presence of the inhuman creatures. Now that the grey-cloaked beings had left, they were well and truly the biggest bullies on the island.

The entire island could be heard breathing a huge sigh of relief that night. Inhabitants of the cells everywhere in the fortress were thanking their deities for this mercy, some quietly, some at the top of their voices. Everyone was celebrating, albeit each one by themselves: No one could leave his or her cell in order to hug their neighbour. Many did not even have a neighbour.

There was just one person that night who was once again not alone: Harry.

He had been involved in a discussion with Snuffles about whether or not the Dementors were truly gone for good when steps echoed down their hallway. Jeering and waving around a wine bottle, the four men came to a halt in front of Harry's cell.

Snuffles, as usual, was treating them to fond pet names such as "child abuser" and "sadistic perverts"; they, as usual, merely laughed at him, and finally the clicking of the lock and the completion of the silencing charm excluded Snuffles from the events to follow.

Harry, meanwhile, was already busy taking off his prison garb. He had long since stopped fighting the unavoidable. At first, the guards had taken that as incentive to stop using Imperius on Harry during their visits, but Harry had not been inclined to go without his weekly minutes of peace. So they thought he was too tame to need an Imperius? A well-aimed bite had quickly taught the men the error of their ways.

He watched with curiosity as one of the men transfigured a table and five chairs. It wasn't unusual for them to gamble for the first turn; but why the spare chair? One of the guards noticed his questioning look and casually remarked: "In honour of the occasion, you get to play, too."

The men laughed at Harry's incredulous gaze. But it wasn't their usual cruel and nasty laugh Harry often heard when they were torturing him; rather, he was tempted to call it good-natured.

Harry hesitantly sat down at the table.

The oldest man dealt the cards. "You know the rules by now, right?" he asked Harry.

Harry nodded. He had spent countless hours watching the men play this particular variant of wizard's poker, always anxiously awaiting the first victory signalling the start of his humiliation, but also those precious minutes in the relaxed light-heartedness that was the Imperius.

And so they played.

The bottle of wine was passed around during the game, and Harry got to drink from it, as well. With the blandness of Azkaban's daily meals, the wine provided a true explosion of taste. His tongue, his palate, everything was contracting under those bitter, red drops, while his mind rejoiced. It was an entirely new kind of liberation.

Harry had only ever seen other people drunk, and of course he'd heard of the dangers of drunkenness - but, seriously? He was in Azkaban, in the company of men playing for first dibs at using his body, and he knew that a headache or mental incapacity were the least of his troubles. So why not?

The next time the bottle came around, he dauntlessly took a deep swallow.

The first round was over rather quickly. Three of the men leaned back and lit their pipes, while the first pulled Harry from his seat and led him over to the bed.

Soon after that, the second round began. Harry was once again allowed to participate. He kept drinking and was already three sheets to the wind by the time the next man won. Harry had to lean heavily on the table to avoid toppling over when the man behind him was rutting against him with increasingly uncoordinated motions.

The third round commenced. Harry drank on. He gazed at his cards from underneath heavy lids. Something seemed to be wrong with them, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. The characters seemed to dance before his eyes. Was he so drunk already that he was seeing things?

Then he remembered that these were wizarding cards. They were doing a victory dance because they had won.

The men looked at each other sheepishly. "Now what?"

Finally, the youngest among them came up with the perfect solution. "You know what? The boy's fifteen now. He should be old enough by now to enjoy certain things..."

So it came to pass that for the first time in three years, Harry was paid back for the exaltations he had been forced to provide time and again.

Harry blissfully sank into a maelstrom of new impressions. His first alcohol-induced high, his first positive experiences with being touched by these men... Eyes wide open, he started to dream of all the things he could have had if fate didn't hate him. A loved one with whom sex was always good. Freedom. Children who loved him. A family...

A family.

Harry had never had a family of his own.

At that moment in Azkaban, as his hormones were going crazy and the alcohol was inducing his nerves to misfire at will, Harry knew that there was nothing he'd ever want as much as a real family.

* * *

Now, seven months later, he was mere weeks away from fulfilling his own wish. Until some three months ago, he hadn't even been aware this was possible. From Snuffles, he knew that it was a rare phenomenon that hadn't occurred in decades. It was said that only very powerful wizards could achieve such a miracle, and only with the help of a particularly strong love.

It would seem that Harry had just successfully disproven that rumour. He wasn't particularly powerful, and the child he was bearing sure as shite wasn't the product of love!

Still he wanted to keep it.

When his belly started to visibly distort in a way that belied all attempts at explaining away what had happened, the guards had at first spoken of "getting rid of it" and "obliviating the Healer". But at some point, they had given up.

It was thought to be an offence against magic itself to kill one's own child. An even greater crime to destroy a "Miracle". Since none of the men knew who had fathered the child, no one wanted to be responsible for its death. Harry's first successful breaking of the Imperius as he heard of their plans for his child provided additional motivation.

Snuffles hadn't understood in the beginning why Harry wanted to keep the child of those people. If it were him, he had said, he would have gotten rid of it as quickly as he could. But then Harry had told him about his childhood with his Aunt and Uncle, and his wish to have his own real family, one day.

Snuffles had considered this for a few days, then concluded that his "lambkin" had more right to a family than anyone else. Harry was incredibly grateful.

* * *

Two months later, it was time.

Harry woke in the dead of night to his stomach cramping. The pain was such that even he had never experienced anything like it. One of the guards had explained to him earlier that his inner magic would have to form a birthing channel for the baby that was naturally present in women.

Harry felt his organs being pushed aside to make way for the baby. He screamed at the top of his lungs. Snuffles had woken at his first soft moans and was now desperately trying to out-yell Harry to bring about the guards.

Unfortunately, they had their quarters in another wing of the fortress. They did not hear the screams of the only prisoners ever to actively beg for their presence. Eventually, Snuffles gave it up as a lost cause and focused all his energy on encouraging his lambkin.

"You can do it, little one. This is the family you always wanted. Hang in there!"

"Snuffles... I... I... Aaaaaaaargh! I can't take this! It's tearing me apart!"

Snuffles sat in his cell powerlessly clutching at the bars. His knuckles turned white from the strength of his grip, but the man barely noticed. Tears streaked down his cheeks as he cursed his helplessness.

There, not three meters from him, a boy - nearly a man, now - whom he had befriended during those last three years was suffering incredible agony, screaming like he was dying - and he could do fuck-all about it. He had never even seen him! All he knew was the young man's voice. And yet he held a place in his heart as though he were his own son.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrghh!!!!!!"

That scream was louder than anything Snuffles had ever believed possible of a human being.

Then all was silent.

"Lambkin? Child, please, _please_ say something!"

A few endless seconds later, a sound finally reached Snuffles' pricked ears. It was the quiet mewling of a new and as yet uncertain voice. And a calm and composed, albeit tired-sounding voice making soothing noises in response.

"Snuffles? I have a daughter!"

 

"No, please no! Do not take Sarah from me! I'll do anything - ANYTHING! - just please let me keep her!"

The guards had entered Harry's cell the next day and stared at the little black-haired girl with wide eyes. Then they had announced that Harry could hardly care for the little girl himself. They were going to take the girl with them to their part of the fortress and "take care of her".

Harry didn't really think those men would lay a hand on their own baby daughter, but... what if they did? If they had no qualms about raping a twelve-year-old, what was to keep them from abusing his daughter when she'd grown just a little?

He had no way of knowing.

Panicking, he pressed the tiny creature close to his chest, so tightly that she woke soon after and started crying.

"Boy, be reasonable! Give the gal here now, and no fuss. You know you have no chance of opposing us. Now get moving!"

"NO! She is my family! She is all I have! And she is so tiny and innocent, and..."

"So what?"

The old guard's voice was so full of provocative complacency, such a blatant disregard for Harry's feelings and Sarah's needs and welfare that Harry literally saw red.

"No, dammit! You won't have her. I refuse!!!"

"Don't be an idiot, fella! Hand over the child!"

The man took a step towards Harry. Harry retreated into a corner of his cell and pressed his eyes closed.

_Not my Sarah. Please! Those Monsters mustn't have her. If only I could keep them away from us! No matter how. If only I could hurt them like they have been hurting me. Then they wouldn't dare come any closer... Damn them all to Hell, those evil child rapists!!!_

Blazing anger devoured him.

Harry held out his hands and let his fury go.

There was an ear-shattering bang. Harry was caught by a violent blast wave and pressed against the wall. Sarah screamed.

Unsure of what he would see, Harry opened his eyes. And froze.

Two of his cell's walls were completely gone, nothing but smoking black debris left in their place. The same was true of three of the four guards. The fourth was lying still in one piece, albeit just as dead as the others, in the suddenly freely accessible hallway.

Harry was startled by a movement behind the smoking wreckage to his right. There, a huge black dog was slowly rising from underneath the burnt, loose rocks, shaking dust and pebbles from its fur.

"Snuffles...?" Harry hesitantly approached the dog, Sarah still tightly clutched to his chest. The little one had stopped crying when Harry blew the guards, along with large parts of his cell, sky high. She was staring around wide-eyed, visibly wondering at the confusing world she had been born into.

In front of Harry's eyes, Snuffles transformed back into a man. Harry examined him curiously.

Snuffles had to be around forty years old. He had long, unkempt hair - just like himself - and seemed to be missing a few teeth (again, also true of Harry himself). The strangest thing about Snuffles was the look of utter horror on his face. The man gulped. Cleared his throat. Swallowed once more.

Finally, he managed to express what was vexing him so. "James...?!"

Now it was Harry's turn to stare at the other, disbelieving. "How do you know my father?"

"You are... YOU are Harry?! ...The son of Prongs!!!"

"MY father was PRONGS?!"

The two men stared at each other speechlessly. Then both seemed to simultaneously reach a decision. Neither of them could later say who had made the first step. All they knew was that quite suddenly, they were in each other's arms, sobbing for joy.

* * *

Finally they calmed down.

"We... we are free," Snuffles stated uncertainly.

"So we are," Harry answered, just as unsure.

It was a strange concept neither man was quite capable of grasping at the moment.

"Well, then... I suppose we should... go, shouldn't we?" Sirius asked haltingly. He had been stuck in this hell of a prison for fifteen years. And now he would just... leave? The idea was frightening.

Harry had only been here for three years; however, the things he had experienced in those years had aged him easily by a decade. To him, as well, taking his life into his own hands and tackling the unknown, but possibly rather changed world 'outside', was daunting.

Sarah chose this moment to loudly claim their attention.

"Tell me, Snuffles, do you have any idea where the guards quarters are? I want to see if they have anything Sarah could eat."

"I don't know, but I assume it's somewhere that way..." He made a vague hand gesture down the right hallway turning a corner in the distance.

"Well then, let's go."

"Yes... one moment, though." Snuffles quickly went over to the only 'undamaged' dead guard and rummaged in his pockets.

"Aha!" Triumphantly, he extracted the man's wand.

Harry's eyes lit up at the childlike enthusiasm on the face of the man who used to be his father's best friend. Snuffles had been through so much, and still he had kept his sanity. He had preserved the power to still be happy and boisterous like a little child. A true marauder.

_Father would be proud if he could see him today._

* * *

"We cannot even feed her right now!"

"I know."

"We are fugitives. Dangerous criminals, as far as the rest of the world is concerned. Outlawed, cleared to be killed on sight! In danger."

"I know."

"And still you don't want to give her away?"

"She is my life, Snuffles."

They had found a cool box in the living/dining room of the guards, with salad and pasta for themselves and some milk for Sarah.

After a nice meal, they had washed in the men's lovely clean bathroom and taken care of their personal hygiene. Snuffles looked years younger without the beard. In the wardrobes, they had found clean trousers and even a few shirts and sweaters that could be worn in the Muggle world without risk.

Afterwards, they had sat down at the table for a while to consider their options.

They had concluded that nobody deserved the hell they had lived through. So they had laid down Sarah for a nap in one of the rooms, put a personalized seal on the door and started on a tour of the prison.

They had entered each cell separately and put a silencing field over it so no noise would escape. Then they had asked the inmate whether they were justly imprisoned and what their crime had been.

Many of those people had been in Azkaban for years because they had killed in the heat of the moment or for having used an Unforgivable just once. Snuffles and Harry agreed that more than a year in Azkaban was too much for such cases. They freed the inmates and sent them along to the guards' three open rooms to clean themselves up as much as they could while waiting for them.

There were cases, though, when they wordlessly closed the door behind them and marked it with a glowing red X. Such as the door of a Death Eater who had tortured fifteen Muggles to death and was proud of it. Or a woman who had brutally murdered her own children. Or that man who...

But enough of that.

In the end, fully three quarters of the prison's current eighty-some inmates were gathered in the guards' quarters. They were anxious, just waiting for the guards to return and tell them that it had all been a new, sadistic game and everyone who joined in would be punished accordingly.

But the guards did not come. Instead, after a while the two men from before entered the living-dining room, the younger of whom was carrying a baby in his arms.

Snuffles and Harry quickly outlined their own stories. Who they were, what they had been wrongfully accused of, how Harry had been impregnated by the guards and had finally blown them all up while trying to protect his daughter from them.

The Boy-Who-Lived imprisoned... the guards, dead... a male pregnancy... Snuffles and Harry watched with great amusement as the inmates began to murmur incredulously. They proceeded to explain to the awestruck witches and wizards that they had deemed all but the most psychopathic Death Eaters, sex fiends and mass murderers sufficiently punished with what the guards had done to them and that they had decided that further incarceration was no longer appropriate.

"We cannot promise that you will get far. We could only retrieve this one wand which we will need to keep the baby alive. But we wanted to at least give you a chance to try. Are you ready to reconquer the world outside?"

Some of the men and women had tears in their eyes, others were grinning stupidly. Some were visibly in shock. None of them had really expected to ever see the light of day again.

Finally, the group got on their way. They found the exit. From there, they found a little boat on the beach, which one of the older wizards from their group, with the help of Snuffles' wand, extended into a mid-sized sail boat that just so fitted all of them.

Upon arrival onshore, they compared notes on the layout of the area and proceeded to walk towards a small wizarding village generally thought to be mere kilometres south of Azkaban.

Some of the inmates had not walked further than from their cell to the shower rooms and back for so many years that they had to be supported by their fellows, but somehow they all made it to a little hill overlooking the village. Here they rested, sending two women ahead for reconnaissance.

A little over an hour later, they returned with shining eyes. They had located a sports shop in the village with a lovely choice of all types of brooms.

Happily whispering amongst themselves, the group retreated into the forest to await nightfall.

Snuffles was forced to cast a sleeping spell on Sarah who was crying for hunger.

Silently and with all senses alert, the roughly sixty people finally "tiptoed" from the outskirts of the village towards the sports shop sometime after midnight. For the first time in all of their lives, fortune seemed to favour them. No-one noticed them breaking the locking charm on the door. And there were enough brooms for everyone.

In a solemn ceremony, the wand was passed around and each of the freed prisoners tattooed "Sarah" on their arm, leg, bosom (some of the younger inmates bashfully averted their eyes, while the long-term inmates just snorted "Oh, to be able to feel that coy again...!") - or another body part of their choice.

Harry and Snuffles were moved by this display of gratitude and by the solemn vow of the five dozen witches and wizards present never to forget them and to be forever grateful for their altruistic deed.

Finally, it was time to leave. Hand in hand, Harry and Snuffles stood and watched their fellow sufferers fly towards their future.

"Lambkin, what holds you here?"

Harry looked unhappy and Snuffles' worried eyes had caught it.

"I don't think it's right to be stealing all these brooms."

Snuffles laughed. "Little one, after all the wizarding world has done to you, you are perfectly entitled to take back a bit of your own."

"Yes, but -" Harry hastily cut himself off when a _crack_ from outside announced someone having apparated nearby. Already, voices became audible in front of the store. 

"Are you sure it was not a false alarm?"

"Yes, Mister Auror, I myself have heard the thieves talking."

Harry and Snuffles looked at each other aghast. Harry was holding Sarah tight, while his friend was clutching a broom in one hand, the guard's wand in the other.

"What are we going to do...?" Harry whispered.

He would not get an answer, for in that moment, the shop's entrance door opened.

"Lambkin, hold onto me!" Snuffles screamed.

The Aurors entered the shop just in time to see two people vanishing in front of their eyes with a loud  _crack._

* * *

When it became known that there had been a mass breakout at Azkaban, portkey travel was blocked across all borders. The Muggles were alerted and all known information on outer appearance, age and dangerousness of the fugitives was broadcast day and night through Muggle TV and Wizarding Wireless.

Great Britain was in a state of high tension.

Harry and Snuffles had been hunted by the Aurors that night. Barely had they arrived at one place when the Aurors found their magical trail and followed. The two fugitives had to expend a huge amount of cunning and energy to throw the men off their trail. It was more than a day later that they finally had a real breather.

By this time, Sarah was awake again. The poor thing was crying bitterly and both men were highly aware that they did not stand a chance like this. Neither of them knew anything about basic childcare, not even if the baby would survive on cow's milk or whether it needed anything else.

"Lambkin, she will die if we continue like this."

"But I cannot give her away!!!"

"Isn't there anyone you would trust with your child?"

"I lost my trust in mankind the day I was imprisoned - and it was dawning on me that people are rather evil by nature a long time before that. Just look at my relatives!"

"But, little one, if we keep dragging Sarah around with us on this mad chase, it will hurt her. Don't you think the risk would be smaller if we were to... I mean, it does not have to be forever. In half a year or so, when the excitement has gone down, we can come back for her and leave England together. How does that sound?"

Harry looked at the pleading eyes of his only friend of many years. He knew the man was right.

So it was that the three people found themselves standing in front of the Weasley residence.

"Goodbye, my little Sarah," Harry whispered, depositing his precious little bundle on the porch and summoning a quill and parchment from the house. "I promise to return soon!"


	4. Future

* * *

Molly Weasley could not say what had caused her to get up once more that night to look in on the child. Maybe it was maternal instinct telling her that something important was going on with her little girl. Since she had taken Sarah in a year ago, the baby girl had found her way deeply into her heart.

Hearing muffled voices from the nursery, Molly stiffened in fear. Her wand still lay on the bedside table where she had deposited it earlier that night. Yet something told her to keep walking. If she turned back now, she felt, she was going to miss something vital.

So she crept on towards the door she always left gapping open a little at night and listened with baited breath to her unbidden visitors' conversation.

"You look so adorable, holding your daughter in your arms! How anyone could think you capable of murder is beyond me."

Molly saw the shadows of two men through the gap in the door. The taller one seemed to be ruffling the smaller one's hair.

That man grumbled irritably and said, disgruntled: "But I am a murderer."

The other man looked at him piercingly. "YOU are NOT responsible for Ginny Weasley's death, little one!"

Molly felt her breath catch. She had guessed that her adoptive daughter's parents had returned for her. But she had not expected anything like this.

Meanwhile, the smaller man was glowering at the taller. "I know that perfectly well, thanks ever so much. I was speaking of" - he gulped - "the guards."

"Oh, _them_!" The taller man _tsked_ nonchalantly. "First of all, lambkin, that was done in the heat of the moment; secondly, they deserved it, after all they'd done to you..."

"And thirdly?"

"Thirdly. Lambkin, Harry, what had you been thinking before you blasted them to kingdom come with that amazing burst of wild magic?"

Harry looked down at the little bundle in his arms. "I thought... I was afraid they would take the baby. I could not let her grow up with them! What if they had... used her... like - like they did me... and you... and... and... I was just afraid for her, you know?"

"I know, little one. I understand better than I would like." Snuffles trembled a little at the memory of the guards' many visits he had suffered himself, especially in the earlier years. "Anyway, I am sure you agree that it wasn't your intention to kill them, right?"

"Well... not exactly. No."

"So it was an accident. You were just trying to protect your little girl. I think that's well within your rights. That, my dear, was not murder. It may not have been the cleanest solution, but hey, at least now we're free." He merrily grinned at Harry.

Harry simply had to answer that grin with one of his own, the older man's cheer was catching. "Oh, Snuffles, if I didn't have you...!"

"Which reminds me. Have I ever told you that I am your godfather?"

"WHAT? No-one ever told me that! But that makes you family, as well!" Harry's smile was radiant.

Molly felt a growing lump in her throat. While she did not clearly understand everything that was said, the conversation still left little room for doubt as to who the men in her nursery were.

Harry Potter. Who was innocent.

And Sirius Black. Whom Harry seemed to trust.

"...But back to the matter at hand. So you insist on giving money for Sarah's care to the family? Then just write a cheque. I am sure your parents left you a huge pile of money."

Harry looked pensively at his godfather. "Well, a large part of that 'pile' has already gone to the Weasleys, since it was assumed that I had killed her -"

"Ginny Weasley... I still can't believe that she is dead. She was born just days before... before..." Snuffles broke off and looked down at the floor.

"Oh," Harry said quietly. "You mean, before Pettigrew betrayed my parents?"

_Pettigrew? Peter Pettigrew?_

Molly's head was spinning. Was it possible that Sirius Black, as well, had been unjustly imprisoned?

What had they done?

"Wormtail, yes," Snuffles growled. "Who actually did murder the youngest Weasley?"

"Supposedly, I did... The truth is a bit more complicated than that.  It involves an old diary of Voldemort's, which Lucius Malfoy" - Snuffles bared his teeth in a snarl - "had snuck into Ginny's things. She was so imprudent as to write in it and it took possession of her. It made her open the Chamber of Secrets and petrify  people . I am not quite sure, how... But wait, Riddle said something about a basilisk, maybe..."

"Riddle?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle. Voldemort. His memory was contained in the diary and trying to resurrect itself by leaching off Ginny's life force. I pulverized the  damn thing and prevented him from returning - too late, though." The last was said very quietly. 

Both sank into melancholy silence.

Molly, meanwhile, was feeling drowned by all the new information. Harry had tried to rescue Ginny? He had taken on You-Know-Who to do so?

Finally, Harry spoke again. "Can I even write a cheque that is worth anything? Since I am a fugitive..."

"The goblins in Gringott's don't care one whit who you are. It is even irrelevant which name you use to sign - they have their ways of determining whether the signature fits the specified vault. So actually, we don't have to keep living off my nasty relatives' legacy, grateful though I am for their lack of trust in the bank, causing them to hoard their treasures in the mansion."

"That's great! So all that is left to do is decide how much to give them and -"

"You do not have to give us anything, Harry." Molly entered the room amidst the shocked glances of the two fugitives.

"Is it true, Harry? You did not kill Ginny?"

The boy looked at her with incredibly sad, dull green eyes. "Did you really believe that?"

Molly gulped. Did she?

Maybe not at first. It had seemed absurd that the mild-mannered, shy little boy she had met the previous year at platform 9 ¾ was able to hurt anyone, much less kill her Ginny.

But the trial had passed her by in a haze, and whatever may have been said there, it appeared to have left no doubt of Harry's guilt. With a detached feeling of surrealism, Molly had later read that Harry Potter had been found guilty of the murder and sent to Azkaban.

She had not wanted to believe it. She hadn't really wanted to admit to herself that Ginny was really dead.

But with time, the truth had penetrated her stupor, and with time, she had accepted Ginny's death. And Harry's conviction.

But his guilt?

Not so much.

"I was never quite able to grasp how YOU, of all people, could have killed GINNY. It made no sense..." Her eyes looked at him dully. It was beginning to dawn on her that she should have trusted her feelings.

"If I'd said anything back then... maybe they would have continued looking for proof, and..."

"It's fine," Harry interrupted her.

Molly was surprised when the pale light of the moon falling in through the window showed her the young man's serious, grown-up expression. There was no accusation in his gaze, only sadness and, incredible though it seemed, understanding.

"I am not angry at you, Mrs. Weasley. Even if you had spoken up for me, it probably would have changed nothing. The Minister wanted to lock me away, so he did. Not meaning any disrespect, but I don't think your family is influential enough to fight the Minister's decision, once made. So it really does not matter one way or the other.

"At least, you got the money. There is no one more deserving."

Tears trailed down Molly's cheeks as she listened to the young man's matter-of-fact explanation that it was perfectly alright with him that they had wrongfully enriched themselves from his coffers.

"...It isn't as though I had much use for that money in Azkaban. And at least, this way you were able to take good care of my little one."

Molly saw the previously tense, serious face soften as the boy bowed his head over the baby in his arms. Sarah chose that moment to open her green eyes.

Harry smiled at her. "Hello Sarah. Daddy is back."

The ticking of the grandfather clock echoed loudly in the silent room. Minutes passed by in which father and daughter silently stared at each other.

Then Sarah laughed softly and extended a tiny hand to grasp at Harry.

Molly gasped in surprise.

The two men turned towards her with matching frowns and questioning gazes.

"That..." Molly began. "That is the first time Sarah has laughed!!!"

Harry looked at his daughter for a long moment, puzzled, before clutching her tightly to his chest and rubbing his cheek against hers. "Oh my little one, did you think I wouldn't return? No matter who your fathers are, I love you! You and Snuffles, you are my family!"

The child laughed once more and playfully tugged at Harry's hair.

Molly, though, seemed frozen on the spot. "Her fathers? But... why... Isn't she _your_ daughter?"

Harry fixed her with a with a piercing look. "Do you remember my letter, Mrs. Weasley? I did not exaggerate when I said that Sarah was not the child of a happy union."

Molly continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly.

Harry sighed. "I am sure you read in the newspaper that all four human guards were killed in the breakout from Azkaban."

Molly nodded.

"Well, the reason for this was that they were going to take Sarah from me. That caused my accidental magic to more or less ...accidentally blow them up."

"But how could you have a child in Azkaban in the first place? Did you share your cell with a woman?"

Harry had lived with the fact of his pregnancy for so long that he couldn't understand why Mrs. Weasley was still looking for a woman in his story.

Snuffles seemed to understand the dilemma, for he now helpfully interceded. "Sarah has no mother, Molly. Only fathers."

Molly looked at him, her eyes wide with horror. "What? ...Who? How?... Did _you_...?"

Harry snorted. "I wish it were that simple. Snuffles might even have been an option I could live with. No, Mrs. Weasley, no reason to worry." His voice hardened. "The day Sarah was born was the first time my father's school friend even _saw_ me. He is not the kind of pervert that would lay a hand on his godson."

Harry was starting to get frustrated. In his opinion, Molly Weasley was being unforgivably obtuse. "There were four bored guards in Azkaban. Did you never ask yourself what kind of person would take a job in a prison guarded by Dementors? Who would choose to do something like that without getting something _more_ out of it?

"Well, I can assure you that those four guards did not take the job out of the goodness of their hearts! There is probably not a single inmate in Azkaban who hasn't at least once been raped by the guards."

There. He'd said it.

Molly's wild eyes stared at the sixteen-year-old from a face devoid of all colour, saw him standing there holding the daughter he must have had at the age of fifteen. He looked serious and composed and much more grown-up than a boy his age had any right to be, especially since several years of his life had been spent in a place that was not conducive to growing up, presumably keeping him from the kind of knowledge other boys his age discovered slowly over the years.

"Harry, but you were only..."

"Fifteen," Harry agreed, "but I was twelve the first time... the first time they..." He turned away and hid his face in Snuffles' coat.

Molly sighed heavily. "I'm afraid this won't help you any, Harry, but I want you to know that I am glad the bastards who did that to you are dead."

Harry looked up in wonder. It was nice to know there were people who saw how much they had all been wronged in Azkaban. Maybe it would be good if more people knew...

"Snuffles," he addressed the man who had been a friend at first, turning more and more into a father figure since their escape. "I don't think we need to obliviate Mrs. Weasley. I want her to tell people about this. Maybe they will pardon some of the others, then."

Very few of their fellow fugitives had been recaptured, but those who were still at large were still considered outlaws by the authorities.

Snuffles looked at him for a moment before nodding. "That is a good idea. Would you do this for us?" he asked the Weasley matriarch.

Molly gladly agreed, but she did have a question. "I will tell people that both of you were unjustly imprisoned. Would you like to live here, with us, until your cases are reopened?"

Harry sighed. "No, it is best that we leave the country as quickly as possible. We have been in a magical sleep in Snuffles' old house for months, but now it is time. Now that the port controls and surveillance of Muggle airports are letting off, I see no reason to stay in England any longer. I have been convicted of murder only nominally. The thing I was really condemned for, however, was my Parseltongue ability. That hasn't gone away..."

A gloomy silence hung over the room.

Sarah had gone back to sleep, cuddled up close to her daddy, her little fists clutching tightly at his cloak.

"It is time for us to go," Snuffles said quietly.

Harry nodded.

Saying goodbye to Molly Weasley was hard on him. He knew this was the last time he met anyone from his old life. He shoddily scratched out a cheque for a large amount of money which he pressed at the protesting woman. "You were a mother to my Sarah. I have no other way of thanking you. Please, at least let me do this..."

Molly still had tears running down her face. She only fuzzily saw Sirius wrap his arms around Harry and the baby girl. With a final _crack_ _,_ Sarah, her father and his godfather vanished from her life.

"Molly dear, what was that noise?"

Molly turned around to see her sleepy husband stood in the corridor. With a heart-wrenching cry she threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest.


	5. Epilogue

* * *

The following day, two people - and a baby - were sat in an aeroplane headed for Asia whom nobody would have known for the fugitives shown on TV a year ago. Snuffles, lambkin and daughter were leaving Great Britain. Never again would they trust their lives to the European magical jurisdiction. And hopefully, people in Asia were less prejudiced against snakes.

Sarah peacefully slept in Harry's arms, while Snuffles was enjoying the view from the large machine. He had never travelled by aeroplane before and was impressed with the superior height and velocity.

Harry was content. He was finally leaving England behind, and with it his entire horrible childhood. The years of neglect at the Dursleys', the stigma of being the Boy-Who-Lived, and finally the years in Azkaban.

There was no denying that each of those experiences had shaped him. He had never mattered enough to have his wishes, his rights, or his version of the truth be taken into account. But now he had been given the chance to start over as the new person he had become.

The passport Snuffles had bought for him in a shady corner of London identified him as "John Logan Earnest", son of "Heath Michael Earnest" (that was Snuffles) and father of "Sarah Lily Earnest".

Harry Potter was no more. He had died in England.

John Earnest though was flying towards a brilliant future with his family.

* * *

And thus a little-known prophecy found its end. Years later, knowledge of it would hit the public. The day people realized what had happened when they caused Harry Potter to flee the country would be a black day for wizarding Britain.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord was gone.

  
  


THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There you have it, folks! A happy ending for Sirius, Harry and the little one. Though possibly not so much for the rest of wizarding Britain. :P - Thank you all for reading and commenting!


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